Gunsmoke for McAllister (17 page)

The wounded men were boosted onto their horses. Rico was still mad, but he was hurt and for the moment was occupied with the pain from his wound. Rawley got the train moving again and took his immediate followers into the van, sending one man out on either flank, telling them he didn't want any heroics. They weren't out there to fight, but to warn Rawley of the presence of the enemy.

Rawley, as he rode, knew that he must do something to impress his men if he meant to save the gold. Too much had gone against him in the last few days. He thought of the possibility of trailing the men who had just attacked the train, but he shrank from weakening the guard on the train too much. No, the next time he was attacked, he must counter-attack himself. Nothing took an attacker more off-balance than to have the victim turn on him. Attack after all was the best form of defense. He knew he had the courage to carry out his decision, but whether his men would follow him or not was another matter and he did not relish finding himself charging a dangerous enemy alone.

From the safe height of the hills, McAllister sat the canelo and watched the gold-train wending its way slowly along the narrow trail. It seemed to move at a snail's pace and, though it was certain now that it was heading for the river, it was plain that it would not reach it today. McAllister didn't doubt that Rawley would expect an attack at the crossing. But he wouldn't get one. He would never be attacked when he expected it.

From his inspection of their camp sites, he knew that Rawley and his men expected attacks at night. Twice they had camped and nothing had happened. Tonight, a great many things would happen. In spite of what Sam had said, McAllister was determined to get in that camp tonight. Sam had argued that two men would be better than one, but McAllister didn't agree. Two men could not act or think as fast as one. They could become separated and in separation lay danger. When a man was on his own in an enemy camp, he knew that everything that moved was against him and could act accordingly. No, he would go in alone. And by the time he'd finished, Rawley would begin to wonder if the gold was worth it after all.

He paced the train below, keeping away from the skyline, noting the flankers Rawley had out now and the vanguard that he thought Rawley himself led. It would be a good idea, he thought, to attack the column from the rear. He must: talk to Sam about that.

Things were going well for them. They had hit Rawley several times now and that must be having its effect on the men. But how long they would be able to keep it up, McAllister didn't know. Their supplies were beginning to run low and their ammunition would not last for ever. If they could rob Rawley of some of his supplies, they might stand a chance of keeping going for another week or so. But McAllister would have liked to finish this before then. If it ever could be finished. For none of them were in first-class physical condition. None of them grumbled and all kept going, but all of them, except maybe for the girl, wanted a rest.

The men below were halted and McAllister watched them slowly go into camp. He dismounted and tied his horse, bellying down so that no sharp-eyed guard could see him. He watched Rawley place his men carefully and noted where they lay. Rawley had chosen a fairly open spot, but one which provided enough
cover. His bait for the horses and mules was now running out, so he camped near grass and as soon as the packs and saddles were off the animals, they were put out to grass under guard. This was a mounted man who was on the far side of the remuda from McAllister. Mentally, McAllister rubbed his hands. If he hadn't learned enough from the Cheyenne to run off those animals, his name wasn't McAllister. He'd go in there with moccasins on his feet and a knife in his hand tonight.

When he had the layout firmly in his head, he crept back and mounted the canelo, riding away into the east where he would find the others.

He was pleased to find that he was challenged as he went in, which showed that Diaz, the guard, had his wits about him. He found Carlita cooking over a smokeless fire and the smell of broiling deer meat in the air. That was the last of the meat and from now on they would be on half-rations. Nobody looked forward to it after their months of near-starvation.

Sam was lying back against his saddle. He looked bone-tired.

‘They're in camp,' McAllister said. ‘The remuda's out on grass. This is my chance.'

‘Our chance,' said Sam.

‘Don't let's go all over that again. I feel better on my lonesome. Let me do it my way, Sam.'

‘All right, but I think you're crazy.'

‘It's just we can't afford to lose men, Sam, an' you know it. We need to hit 'em again in daylight tomorrow. We have to quicken things up from here on.'

They chewed deer meat, holding the hot portions of meat in their fingers, silent, their jaws too busy for talk. When he was through eating, McAllister, still ferociously hungry, said he was going to sleep for a couple of hours and God help the man who didn't wake him. Carlita promised that he would be woken and he lay down and fell asleep, listening to the soft murmur of Sam and the girl talking together.

As she promised, Carlita woke him. He came wide awake in a moment, heaved off his boots and put on his Cheyenne moccasins. He debated with himself for a while as to whether he would take the Remington and decided he would.

He stood up and said: ‘Here I go.'

‘No horse,' said Sam.

‘Cheyenne fashion. You go on foot and come back on the enemy's horse.'

Sam laughed.

The girl said: ‘Watch out for yourself, Rem.'

‘I'll do that.'

‘Maybe I should come,
amigo
,' Porfirio said.

‘No, me,' Diaz offered. ‘It would not be the first time I have stolen horses.'

‘Thanks, fellers,' McAllister told them, ‘but I'll do this solo. You can have your fun tomorrow.'

Diaz sighed, showing that he thought the big Anglo was out of his head. McAllister walked away into the night.

He walked for nearly two hours, slowly climbing ridges, running on the flat, until he came to the ridge above the camp. He stopped and listened. All fires had been extinguished below. From where he was there was nothing to show that a campful of well-armed men lay below. But his sharp ears caught the sound of animals moving around. He followed this sound, going along the ridge, keeping below the skyline in case he should be spotted against the night sky, moving north so that he would reach a spot opposite to the herd. The moon was up now and he could see fairly well.

A horse trumpeted softly.

He worked his way slowly down the ridge and moved around the herd so that he could come at it from down-wind. Within a few minutes he caught the smell of horses and mules on the light breeze. He crept closer on his belly now and within minutes saw the dark silhouette of the mounted guard. The poor devil was in for a nasty surprise. One shot in the dark would pay him for all he had done to the hapless prisoners in his power.

McAllister waited patiently. He did not want to advance any further in case he should spook the animals too soon. He would rather the guard moved nearer to him.

But this did not happen. Something that McAllister had not foreseen happened instead. A man came walking from the direction of the camp. McAllister flattened down. He guessed this was a relief coming on duty. He went up to the mounted man and McAllister could hear the murmur of their voices.

McAllister had an idea and asked himself:
Why not? Two's better than one
.

He started worming his way forward, moving in a half-circle so as to work his way around the herd and not disturb it.

When he was within pistol shot, he stopped and drew the Remington. The guard dismounted and started to peel his saddle
from his mount. The other man walked into the herd to rope a fresh horse. McAllister couldn't see either man clearly, but he reckoned he could see enough of them to hit them. All he needed was a little luck. He waited. The second man got his horse with his second try and led it back to the first and started to saddle. When he was saddled and mounted, the other man turned his horse into the herd and hoisted his saddle onto his shoulder.

McAllister lifted the Remington, cocked and fired in one movement. The man with the saddle went down with a cry and at once McAllister was on his feet and firing at the mounted man. He thought he missed him with the first shot, so gave him another. The man reeled out of the saddle and hit the ground.

McAllister was on the move, catching the frightened horse by the cheek strap and pulling its head around. The animal tried to circle desperately away from him, but he went after it and vaulted into the saddle.

Even as his butt hit leather a gun went off close at hand, showing that both men were not out of action. The bullet felt as if it parted his hair. He drove a shot back at a dark form on the ground. Then the horse he was astride was jumping forward and he was letting it go. The whole herd was on the move, flitting away over the rough ground like a bunch of frightened birds, eyes rolling and manes flowing. McAllister yelled like a Comanche and went after them, line-whipping his horse to greater efforts.

The thunder of the hoofs was too loud for him to hear the camp come to life, but he didn't doubt that it did. He lay flat along the horse's neck and let it run, only wanting to get out of there while his skin was still whole. He felt the wind of a bullet and shouted his horse on, then he and the horse-herd were clear of the camp and going like the wind.

He ran the horses through ragged dangerous country and nothing on this earth runs like a spooked horse. The animals got their alarm deep in them and carried their source of fear behind them in the form of McAllister and slowly they scattered away before him until there were no more than a half-dozen running in front of him and the horse under him was starting to labor. He took the rope from its thong to the right of the saddlehorn on the saddle he bestrode and built a noose. This he dropped over a chunky dark horse in front of him and turned away to the east. He circled and turned back to where he had left the others. He knew that Rawley would not be going on his way for a little while yet. It had been a good night's work.

It must have been well on toward dawn when he found the camp, or rather a guard found him. This was Diaz up in the rocks with a rifle in his hands. When McAllister sang out that it was him, the Mexican ran from cover with cries of joy. The sight of the two good horses sent him into ecstasies that were so noisy that he awoke the whole camp and there was Sam wringing his hand and the girl kissing him.

‘How'd it go?' Sam demanded.

‘They don't have a horse to their name.'

Sam laughed in delight and said: ‘We hit 'em tomorrow.'

Rawley said: ‘They'll hit us tomorrow.' He said it out loud and he said it to his men. Now this catastrophe had happened to them, they must be braced for the worst that could happen to them. They gathered around him in the moonlight, guns in their hands, guns they knew how to use so well, but they were impotent.

Rawley sat on the gold and talked to them, the gold that they wouldn't be able to move until they had the horses and mules back. He felt like weeping from rage and frustration and he knew that if he had one of the perpetrators of the horse-theft there now he would kill him slowly and painfully. He ached to get his hands on just one of them.

From below him in the gloom of the moonlight, Rich said: ‘If they knew their business, they'll hit us tonight. Now.'

‘Could be,' Rawley admitted. ‘But I reckon they won't. It ain't their way. They let us sweat a while after they hit us. Carlos, come dawn, you take a half-dozen of the boys and go get the horses. They won't have gone far.'

Carlos didn't like the sound of that and he said so. ‘On foot? In this country?'

Rawley allowed some of his rage to seep through into his voice. ‘How the hell else do we get our mounts back, you damn fool? If you don't have the sand, I'll soon find somebody who does.'

Carlos consented to go because he feared Rawley more than the country. Which was saying something.

‘Now,' said Rawley. ‘We got to have a little patience. Things look like they couldn't be worse. But that ain't so. They couldn't be better. Them bastards think they got us. But they ain't. We got them. This is the way I see it.'

He talked. They crowded close to listen. Their morale was at its lowest ebb, but they had to admit that Rawley had kept his nerve and he seemed to be using his head. They looked at each other and their looks seemed to say:
He's as smart as ever he was
. Rawley had the gold and he meant to keep it. The need to keep that much gold would make any man smart in his opinion. He was going to ride out of this country with the gold and a couple of white scalps hanging from his bridle. That he solemnly promised himself.

* * *

At first, they were undecided whether to hit Rawley now in daylight or to wait for night. They talked it this way and that. Finally, McAllister said: ‘We hit 'em now, they don't have any horses to follow us on. We have mobility and it's our one advantage. Let's use it.'

‘We also have night and surprise,' said Sam.

‘But they could have their horses back by night,' McAllister said. ‘I vote for now. Carlita does horse-holder, we hit 'em an' run. I reckon if some of 'em ain't desertin' right now, one more attack'll settle 'em for sure. I reckon right this minute, Rawley's havin' to woo them boys with a whole lot of smart talk.'

‘You could be right,' said Sam. ‘So long as we all agree, I'll go along with anythin' so long as it ain't too crazy.'

So it was decided. McAllister knew the country where the men were camped and he knew the best way to approach the camp. He'd go ahead now and scout the place to make sure everything was as it should be.

They nodded. That made sense. So he saddled the canelo and rode out.